


the little bit the boys admire

by Gwerfel



Series: Tozer and Fitzjames' long hot summer (feat. Dundy) [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fitzjames In A Dress, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairings, bisexual tozer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwerfel/pseuds/Gwerfel
Summary: He whistles at the gussied up young man as he glides by. The man turns, looking startled at first, large dark eyes in a long face framed with neat bouncing ringlets. Very handsome, Tozer affirms, and dares to wink.“Miss,” he gives a little nod of his head, as he has seen men greet proper young ladies.“I say, Jas,” one of the other officers squawks, “I do believe that marine is giving you the eye. He must be after your virtue, old girl!”“My good fortune that I have you to protect me, Dundy.” The man in a dress - or lady in boots - snaps open a black lace fan and holds it up to his rouged face, flashing wicked black eyes at Tozer one last time before the revellers have passed on their way.___Tozer is bored and horny on guard duty in Portsmouth dockyard. Fitzjames is out on the lash with the lads in his finest scarlet silk dress.
Relationships: Commander James Fitzjames/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Series: Tozer and Fitzjames' long hot summer (feat. Dundy) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662646
Comments: 30
Kudos: 81
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	the little bit the boys admire

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Kt_fairy always for your enthusiastic support and proofreading!
> 
> Written for the Terror Bingo 2019 prompt 'crinoline'.

His duty has only just begun and already he is looking for a distraction. Some marines enjoy their time in Portsmouth, where the barracks are the finest in England - which is to say the finest in the world - and the most laborious activities are early morning drills and late night whoring. Solomon Tozer is not one of these men, and he is long past being restless. He did not enlist to stand on a dock only to stare at the sea. 

But stare he does, for there is precious little else to do. It is early evening, and late summer so the blue in the sky deepens and the glimmer of sun on the water softens and spreads like the waxy light of oil lamps. Ships at anchor stand tall in the distance at the end of the yard, bowsprits bobbing and dipping slowly like old admirals greeting each other. The sails are furled tight and the slack rigging moves faintly in the breeze.

On land, the dockyard worker's shifts are ending, mothers and children alike have set down their labour and call out to each other as they make for the gates to journey home. Groups of gruff men, tarry and sun-scorched, puff at pipes and cigarettes as they begin on their way to the taverns and alehouses lining the seafront. 

Tozer stands upright in his sentry box, keeping the peace on this extremely peaceful evening. He sees only familiar faces, tired and glad to be free of their burdens. It is Sunday tomorrow, and a day of rest for all but the Royal Marines. 

The dockyard slowly clears, and the sun slips further in the sky. Over the next hour or so, night lays itself down across the sea, turning it dark as ale, frothing and swilling against the stone docks. The ships grow stark and black as shadows and the cobblestones gleam with silver moonlight. 

The torches outside the alehouses are all lit up, further along the shore, and singing has begun. Women’s voices cry out from doorways and shaded windows, angling for trade. They come further up into the dockyard sometimes, if business is slow, and try to tempt the men on duty. It is clearly a worthwhile venture; someone has carved ‘ _I fucked Big Annie here June 1841_ ’ inside the sentry box. It is July. If Big Annie tries her luck tonight she’ll be sent packing. Tozer has been on land six months and hardly has two pennies to rub together, let alone cash to spare on a tumble. He wonders what she looks like - buxom or like a rail? Bright hair or dun coloured? Did she play the guileless maiden, or was she a bold type with cunning arts? He gives a sigh, and straightens. 

A rabble of young officers approaches, disturbing Tozer’s idle thoughts. He hears them first, singing a bawdy song - already drunk, of course, they seem never to be short of liquor, those fine, genteel men. They are the worst for it, when they cut loose, that is Tozer’s experience. Ordinary sailors will share a few cups with their mates, sing and be merry, then follow the blood in their pricks to the nearest warm bed and dig in for the night. With officers there must always be trouble; they must make exhibitions of themselves, and rather than settle arguments with an honest bar room brawl it must be pistols at dawn and puffed up talk of honour and dignity - which really amounts to a lot of nonsensical flapping about, in his opinion. 

These officers, the ones passing Tozer’s sentry box, are all dressed up in costumes. That is another peculiarity of the upper classes which Solomon does not pretend to understand. They march forward whooping and laughing, all garishly clad in gay colours and comical masks. It is very much like the May Day parades Tozer remembers watching as a boy, only these men are all playing the fool. Among them is a fine lady, smiling and cheering as riotously as the rest of them, wearing a scarlet silk grown, cheeks pink, white shoulders bared to the night. Solomon is satisfied that his judgement on the debauchery of officers was correct - they have not even reached the taverns yet, and already they have laid claim to the company of some high-class harlot. She is lovely, though, with softly curled hair and a long elegant neck. Tozer has never had a woman like that before, but he’s thought about it.

It is only as the troupe passes him and Tozer can see each figure up close that he realises the person in the red dress is not a lady - or if she is, then she is the tallest lady Tozer has ever seen, with the broadest shoulders - and when her too-short skirts swish over her ankles he can spy an officer’s boots beneath. 

Still, Solomon sees no harm in admiring how well this young toff carries the get-up - saucy walk and all. No shame in having a look, as far as Tozer reckons, for it is pleasant to see the rustle of silk about the dockyard where there are rarely ladies present at all, aside from the doxies and captain’s wives - and Solomon would never stare so boldly at them. Besides, a fine neck is a fine neck, adam’s apple or no.

He whistles at the gussied up young man as he glides by. The man turns, looking startled at first, large dark eyes in a long face framed with neat bouncing ringlets. Very handsome, Tozer affirms, and dares to wink. 

“Miss,” he gives a little nod of his head, as he has seen men greet proper young ladies. 

“I say, Jas,” one of the other officers squawks, his hat - a long, plum velvet nightcap with a gold tassel - falling askew, “I do believe that marine is giving you the eye. He must be after your virtue, old girl!”

Tozer remains at attention in his sentry box, back straight and unflinching, as though he has not heard them. They have a language all their own, those types, he could never follow it anyway. 

“My good fortune that I have you to protect me, Dundy.” The man in a dress - or lady in boots - snaps open a black lace fan and holds it up to his rouged face, flashing wicked black eyes at Tozer one last time before the revellers have passed on their way. 

He watches them disappear into the distant shoreline, until he guesses they must be part of the throng of sailors of every rating making merry in the open fronted alehouses. Solomon will go alone back to his bunk in the barracks tonight, once he is off duty - but perhaps next week he will put a few coins by from his pay packet to spend on a drink and a go on Big Annie. 

Long hours pass and finally his watch ends and another man comes to relieve him. It is Sergeant Mellet. He has been here as long as Tozer has, and for a moment he wonders if it was him that carved the boast into the wall of the sentry box. He wonders how Mellet had her, upright or on her knees; there’s not much room in there. 

Solomon decides to walk along the shore a little way before crawling back to his bunk. He wants to stretch his legs, and see some of the fun for himself. Sometimes a drunkard or another marine will spot him a drink, and anyway he has a bit of baccy saved and is of a mind to smoke it. 

It’s a long walk to make alone, and by the time he reaches the taverns he isn’t sure what he’s in the mood for anymore. It is crowded and warm, unsteady men collide and jostle against him. The noise grows louder, the wheeze of the accordion grates on him and a whining fiddle puts him in mind of home, which makes him nostalgic and desiring comfort. Some of the molls are very fair, but he still has no money, and dockside girls fuck marines every night of the week, so his uniform will win him no favours.

He finds himself a mooring bollard at the edge of the dock away from the racket and sets himself to lean against it, pulling out his tobacco and papers. He will have a smoke, then go to bed; this was an ill-fated venture from the start. Looking back in the direction of the dockyard he can barely see the anchored ships, the brightness of the pubs behind him turn the night ever blacker, teasing the mystery of whatever lies beyond. He must get away from shore soon. 

The sea slurps and slaps at the dockside like a drunk old lecher, and cruel women’s laughter rings out behind him. Solomon carefully pinches the cigarette between his teeth and searches for a match. By the time he has found it, struck it and lit his fag, he has become aware of the rustle of skirts nearby. He inhales and looks up, ready to tell her not to waste her time.

It is not a lady, it is his young officer from earlier, trussed up in silk. His curls are falling loose, and the red on his cheeks has smeared, but the dress still looks very well, standing out brightly, gleaming in the light pouring from the tavern. He doesn't walk quite so daintily now, he has the solid regular pace of a true naval lieutenant striding the quarterdeck, hands folded behind him, and Tozer is almost moved to salute. They catch each other's eye, and the officer laughs,

"Come to ravish me, sergeant?" He tosses back his hair.

He has a deep voice. He is all contradictions, this one.

"Fancy get up, that." Solomon says, gesturing with his glowing cigarette at the dress which has so stirred him.

"Yes, just a bit of high spirits, you know." The officer looked down at himself, "gives the men a good laugh, eh?"

"You wear it very well."

"Oh." A distinctly feminine shyness falls over Tozer's companion then, the officer looks down and then up again. “Have you come to meet somebody?”

“Only to pass the time. What happened to your friends?”

“Seeking company, I think,” the dark haired officer glances back at the row of taverns, then back at Tozer with a jolly smile. 

“And left you without any?”

“Scandalous, I know,” he laughs lightly, “to leave a lady unchaperoned, most ungallant. Not a gentleman among them.” He swings his hips girlishly and smooths his skirts. Tozer makes his decision. 

“Well I may not be a gentleman, but perhaps the lady would accept a Royal Marine as her escort,” he puffs his last and tosses the butt over the edge of the dock, the ember sailing in a smoking arc into the laughing waters below.

“Charmed, to be sure,” the officer titters in response, playing along, “and where will the dashing young sergeant be escorting me?”

Tozer pushes off the bollard, standing, favouring directness at this juncture. He casts a deliberate eye to the alleyway between two alehouses, which is quiet and private enough for their needs. “Wherever you like,” he says. “Ladies choice.”

The convivial grin leaves the officer’s face as he follows Tozer’s eyeline. His tongue plays in the pocket of his cheek as he realises what Tozer has suggested, and he meets his eye boldly, raising one dark inquiring eyebrow. Solomon responds by raising both of his and nodding. He offers his arm, and together they leave the sea and the dockside behind, crossing into shadows.

He’s done it here before - with a girl - it’s a ripe place for it, there are crates stacked up and a hundred little nooks where lovers may enjoy a private moment. His lieutenant stands with his back to the wall, facing him, and Tozer is in no hurry so takes him at the waist, first, squeezing to feel the shape the corset has given him, where it has nipped him in and flared him out. He strokes lightly over his hips, the silk is as soft and light as water beneath his fingertips, the loveliest thing he has ever touched. His prick stirs - he is as vital as he was at nineteen, and prides himself on managing to rise to any occasion he sets his mind to, but for this he feels he will need no encouragement. 

Tozer dips his head to inhale the scent of expensive perfume and hair oil, combined with the sweaty earthy reek of a tavern. He takes the officer’s head in one hand and leans in. The officer opens his eyes,

"What are you doing?" He says, brandy on his breath.

"Kissing you," Tozer replies simply, then does it. 

He has a smooth face like a lady, and other than the height Tozer is almost convinced. He even lets his hands wander up from the lieutenant's waist, to a chest which is firm and unyielding. The officer soon settles into the kissing, growing warmer and more inviting, and their bodies cleave together like young lovers meeting at the dockyard gates. 

They could go on doing that for longer, if it was up to Solomon, but he feels hands on him, insistent fingers prying, and when they break for breath his partner rasps, “enough,” and turns around, skirts whispering dryly against the brick wall. 

Solomon takes this kind of direction with good humour. He is no stranger to a bit of buggery, and as far as pricks and arses go it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other, to Tozer. He knows there is a protocol to it, that it’s kindest to prepare the ground before ploughing a furrow - so it is with women, too. 

In aid of this, he sucks two fingers, coating them well and using his other hand to raise up the voluminous silk skirts. The scent of wildflowers wafts with them, a perfume nothing at all like the sharp lemon and lavender potions the doxies drench themselves in. This must be what it is like to have a captain’s daughter, he thinks, rubbing his stiff prick against his lieutenant's firm backside as he does, hissing at the satisfying heat of him. 

Pulling his fingers from his mouth, Solomon reaches down and begins his work slowly. The officer gasps when he realises what is happening, and Tozer grins, pushing a little harder. 

“Oh!” the officer cries as Solomon’s second knuckle breaches him. “Fuck!”

“I mean to,” Tozer says, still inching deeper. The officer gasps again and pushes back, until there is no further to go. "I see now," Solomon bends forward to whisper, running a hand up his partner's broad thigh, holding him at the hip, just below his stays, "you are no lady."

The officer quivers against him, still pressing back. Ready enough, then. Tozer withdraws his fingers to the sound of a whimper, and unbuckles his breeches and drawers. The froth of soft fragrant fabric which piles up between them sweeps across the bare skin of Tozer’s belly, making him throb harder so he can’t help groaning as he quickly aligns himself and thrusts into the panting young officer. 

He’s had girls on their backs in wheat fields, plain cotton dresses up about their waists; he’s had gin addled doxies in pawned velvet gone shiny from too much wear, and he’s had other marines bent over barrels in the hold, bare backsides chafed red as their uniform, but Tozer has never fucked anybody in a silk ballgown. Even in an alleyway, the thrill is giddying.

He is still holding the man steady at the waist when the officer takes his hand and places it at the fork between his legs where his prick stands warm and hard beneath the soft folds of cloth. Tozer wishes to be obliging, and grips that instead, stroking now in time with his own steady thrusts. 

The officer moans, using both hands to support himself against the tavern wall. In doing so he arches his back and begins to move in concert with Tozer - that is certainly a new trick, one that makes Tozer's eyes roll. His hand grows slick and his pace increases, feeling himself pulse and swell with every jerk forward, skin meeting skin with a satisfying slap. 

He grits his teeth as the flames of pleasure build, licking his insides, then burn bright, surging through him as he thrusts twice more, hard, chasing the tight heat just a little longer. He comes to his senses in time to hear the lieutenant groan too, arms straight and rigid against the wall, head sagging forward, curls swinging. Tozer wipes his hand on the inside of the petticoats with a little regret, but the officer does not seem to mind, and does the same.

Solomon kisses the bare skin at his lover’s shoulder, for no reason other than he wants to, and that after spending he always feels tender and sentimental. The officer leans into it for a moment, exhaling long and low. They are grateful to each other, and there's no more to say about it. He pulls away and clumsily tugs the skirts back into place, then turns to allow the lieutenant a moment to bring himself to order.

Once he has, he clears his throat and Tozer turns back, fixing his own buttons.

“I must return to my friends,” the officer says, tossing his hair again. The curls are all but ruined now, hanging limp in places, flurried in others. The red powder on his cheeks is lost in the glistening pink of exertion, but his eyes are warm and satisfied and smile at Tozer. 

“I’m away to bed, then.” Tozer replies, smiling too. 

“Goodnight, Sergeant,” he sweeps past, gait a little wider, to the light at the end of the alley.

“Goodnight, sir,” Tozer salutes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
